


Liquid Courage

by onotherflights



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alcohol, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken Confessions, M/M, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, boxed wine, yuri's teenage crush on Yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 11:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onotherflights/pseuds/onotherflights
Summary: Based on the prompt; "Everything i want is to read a fic where both Yuri and Otabek are drunk and saying things they wouldn't say out loud to each other if sober."





	Liquid Courage

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, those boys. 
> 
> Baramini on Tumblr got an anon ask about this, and I decided I needed to write something quick and cute about it, because drunken love confessions are a favorite of mine. Also, I don't think I've ever written pining!otabek? Might explore that in the future. Anyways, enjoy!

 

“Brown eyes should be a bigger deal.”

Otabek is laying on the floor, and it should be uncomfortable, but all he feels is warm. He's half on the rug, and half on the hardwood. Yuri is lying on his stomach on the sofa, one leg dangling off the side as he cups his cheek in one hand and looks down at Otabek.

“What?” He chuckles, low and showing his teeth just for Yuri. Only ever around Yuri (and his family and friends, but mostly Yuri).

The blonde huffs, like it should be obvious, and tucks a wisp of hair behind his ear.

“I'm just saying, brown eyes are underappreciated. They're really nice looking.” He says, and Otabek takes the straw between his lips and takes another long sip.

They're in the apartment in St. Petersburg, and if the owner of said apartment were to come in and find them in their current state, buzzed on boxed wine in the living room, he would be very upset. Viktor Nikiforov would surely have something to say about them using the finely hand-painted cups he and Yuuri had received for their wedding, combined with the sacrilege of cheap wine and even worse, drinking it through silly straws.

Thankfully, Viktor and his husband were on their honeymoon and Yuri was apartment-sitting, so that meant Otabek was staying over to keep him company.

It wasn't so surprising that it was only two nights in and they were already drinking. What was surprising was how easy it was to remove the filter that usually ran between his brain and his mouth when his stomach was full of red wine (and a few cheap cakes - they were really going all out with it being off time).

“Of course you like brown eyes.” Otabek grins knowingly, and he would never bring it up because Yuri had sworn him to secrecy when it had slipped out the first time they were drunk together, years ago. Only now, they're getting drunk again like it's a beloved pastime and the promise doesn't seem to hold as much as when he's sober. “Yuuri Katsuki has brown eyes.”

Yuri’s glare is instant, and if he already wasn't flushed from drinking, more heat rose to his plump cheeks.

“I told you, I don't like him anymore.”

“Or can't,” Otabek replies, maybe a bit too harshly but there's no filter in place to stop him. “He's a married man now, after all.”

Yuri rolls his eyes and takes a long sip, his soft pink lips puckered around the straw.

“I shouldn't have told you about that anyway, it was a moment of weakness.” Yuri pouted. His cup was almost empty again.

“You mean a moment of intoxication. Meaning you were honest.”

Yuri took one of the accent pillows from the sofa and threw it down, right at Otabek's face. Reflexes quicker than Yuri’s in their current state, he caught it before it could make its intended impact.

Chuckling more and in earnest, Otabek sits up and moves both of their cups to the safety zone of the coffee table. He pulls back the blanket Yuri has been under, and insists they fit themselves together. Yuri only makes half his usual effort to refute that they can't possibly fit onto one sofa together any longer.

They end up how they always do, with Otabek on his back again and Yuri on top of him, his head on the older man’s chest. It's ridiculous now, because Yuri is taller and his feet hang off the armrest at the opposite end. Still, it's the most comforting and familiar thing they can manage in an apartment that is not theirs (not that he think of Yuri’s apartment as _theirs_ , of course not).

Besides that, Otabek would never complain about having Yuri so close. Sometimes, when he's back home in Almaty and Yuri is thousands of Kilometers away, moments like this are all he can think of. They make the cold emptiness of the other side of his bed even more noticeable.

As is true to his nature, he never says anything. He hasn't said anything for over two years, but if Yuri ever got the magical ability to read his mind he'd be in deep, _deep_ shit.

Otabek hid his teenage crush on Yuri about as well as Yuri hid his crush on Katsuki. Only instead of irrational anger and sporadic acts of kindness, Otabek had thrown himself right into the male-made societal construct known only as The Friend Zone. It was complete and utter bullshit, and Otabek had been knee-deep in it for nearly three years.

It wasn't that he thought that Yuri would react so negatively to any confession of non-platonic feelings from him that their friendship would be ruined forever and lead to a domino effect that would result in both of them performing poorly in their skating careers and then continue to snowball into a life of misery and failure. Except, he was insecure, and it was exactly that.

For the hero of his homeland, Otabek was a bit of letdown when it came to doing what was in his own interest.

Realistically, if he ever did lose Yuri’s friendship, for whatever reason, he knew it wouldn't be the absolute end of the world. He had other friends who were always waiting with open arms when he returned home, always quick to throw a party to celebrate even the smallest of victories.

Yuri was different. To say Yuri was his best friend was both a vast understatement and a bit misleading. Sure, if anyone asked him what his relationship with Yuri was, that was the label he would supply. However, back in Almaty with the safety of Yuri being so far away, he didn't think of him as _just_ his best friend.

Best friends don't dream about the things that Otabek dreams of Yuri doing to him.

Of course, he would never express such thoughts sober, and he tried his best to reign in his affections when he was drunk.

For now, he's perfectly content to just hold Yuri in his arms, fingers running gently through his hair, and pretend that it is the most they can ever be.

It's warm with Yuri on top of him, almost too warm between the inner heat from the alcohol and the way Yuri shifts against him until their legs are perfectly tangled, and Yuri is (perhaps unknowingly in his daze) nuzzling his face against Otabek’s heart.

It's a sweet moment, but his sober filter isn't around to stop his mouth from ruining it.

“I wonder how many times they've had sex on this couch.”

Yuri groans in disgust, loud and immediate. He lifts his head to glare at Otabek again, and he really wishes his heart would stop reacting to that the way that it always does. Yuri just happens to be really cute when he's angry and,well ...

“I'm going to push you off this couch.”

Otabek wraps his arms around Yuri’s waist, securing his hold on him. “I’ll take you down with me.”

He doesn't think he's said anything so out of the ordinary, he would probably say the same thing without the wine running through him, but maybe it's the way he’s holding Yuri that does it.

A pink flush fills Yuri’s cheeks, and his glare softens. He lowers his head back down, but rests his chin to Otabek’s chest so that he's still looking up at the Kazakh man.

Usually, Otabek would feel self conscious under the gaze of someone else. When he was skating, he tried his best not to focus on how many eyes were on him, how many more eyes he couldn't even see. He'd gotten used to it over the years, but it still gave him a cold sweat every once and again.

He didn't feel so self aware under Yuri’s gaze, but maybe that was the boxed wine talking. Yuri just stared up at him, his beautiful mixed green and blue eyes looking into his plain dark brown ones. Everything about himself was so simple, he thought, but everything about Yuri felt difficult to properly describe. His hair wasn't just blonde, it was more like pale silk. And Yuri’s eyes weren't just green with a hint of blue, they were the color of a lost sea, some magical place that had been long forgotten, and only still existed in Yuri’s eyes.

Yeah, he was definitely drunk.

Even Yuri was feeling the effects of their activities, full and warm and lazy on top of Otabek, finally laying his head back down. Despite the stereotype, Yuri was a total lightweight. It made sense, considering how compact he was, even after his growth spurt the year before had given him a few inches on Otabek. He was still lithe, something small and so powerful, he could break the heart of anyone who watched him for too long.

And Otabek had been carefully watching for years.

He didn't say anything else, figuring the truths he revealed when they were both still buzzed would only lead to trouble for them both, and Otabek wouldn't do anything to really jeopardize their friendship, even when his brain told him it was a good idea.

Apparently, Yuri’s brain didn't have the same reservations. He spoke again, just a soft whisper, a thought that floated between them in the warm bubble they had slipped into, and Otabek wouldn't really think about it again until the morning, when he was fully sober and realized what Yuri had admitted, after three years of him being too afraid to say something. Nearly three years, and Yuri had managed it with a box of wine and nine words.

“He's not the reason I love brown eyes, Beka.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my lifeblood, also feel free to drop by on Tumblr @onotherflights!


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